


Guilt Remembered Inside Every Fantasy

by MistyBeethoven



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Character Study, Death, F/M, Grief, Guilt, M/M, Nightmares, Pain, Sad, Spaghetti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 17:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyBeethoven/pseuds/MistyBeethoven
Summary: Rick gives Morty a day of rest.





	Guilt Remembered Inside Every Fantasy

_Yellow had been the color of his t-shirt. Yellow like the crayon sun in a child's drawing. The sun had died. The person who had loved him most had felt his broken heart growing cold and numb without its warmth. The only possible choice left was to escape from a reality unwanted, to find another sun to replace the one taken._

* * *

  Denial no longer seemed an option for Rick Sanchez; Morty had been looking tired recently. Tired enough for both Beth and Jerry to notice. Rick had finally caved in and acquiesced to a day of rest for the boy. A day of rest which just happened to fall ironically on a school day.  

  "R-really... You mean it, Rick?" Morty had said looking overjoyed at the prospect.  

  "Yeah... I mean it," Rick said more than a little pissed off at his grandson's enthusiasm. "Y-y-you know these things are supposed to be adventures, Morty. They aren't a fucking job like your parents have. Well one of your parents has. You're not supposed to prefer going to school."  

  Morty nodded his head in agreement but Rick could tell he was still pleased at the prospect.   Rick Sanchez vowed to give the boy what he seemingly so desired: a day free from his presence.

  Rick looked at the uranium powered watch on his bony wrist as he returned to his shabby little room and fell on his too hard cot. 2:00 AM it flashed annoyingly at him with bright blue numbers.

  He was about to spend twenty-four hours without Morty Smith.

 * * *  

  Anger was the first emotion Rick felt on opening his eyes. He was sober; the alcohol he had last consumed had long since been absolved by the hardest working liver in the universe. He had promised himself to stay sober so he would not break the vow he had made to himself not to bother Morty. Still, he hated to wake up sober and clear minded. He preferred agonizing hangovers. The early morning birds always sounded more nightmarish to him then. That seemed far more acceptable under a sky that seemed sometimes too blue, like it was out of some cartoon. He was more able to stomach demented birds than some Disney shit. He liked it that way. Liked the crack he had made in the driveway and that Jerry still wondered and complained about.  

  Lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, Rick wondered if his absence at breakfast would be noticed. He wondered why nobody in the family had ever asked him why he rarely missed one when he was obviously not a morning person. Were they the only stupid family in the whole damn world that even still all ate breakfast together? Exactly who had come up with that winner of an idea? Still, even missing this one was making him anxious, his skin getting itchy and his legs twitching every so often. In truth, he didn't go for the sustenance. He could have easily stashed a box of Strawberry Smiggles away in his room and skipped the whole mundane affair. It was the sight of one thing in particular that gave him the strength to make it through the day.  He wondered if his daughter had noticed the way that her father watched her son. Rick had tried to stop himself, tried to keep his eyes off but it was hard. Morty was his oxygen and he kept wanting another breath.

  A Mortyless breakfast was a suffocating breakfast.

  Although, to tell the truth, he _was_ getting pretty hungry.  

  It was well past 9:00 when Rick allowed himself to leave his room and go to the dining room table. He knew Jerry was probably still lurking around but had no idea if Beth had been called in or not. How many horses took heart attacks anyway? You could never be sure when one was going to pull a Broadway Bill.  

  It was Beth who greeted him at the breakfast table though.   "Hi sweetie. How are..."  

  "How could you?" she asked. She looked at him with eyes full of blame and Rick stopped, his heart freezing in his chest. "It's all your fault!"  

  "She knows," Rick thought to himself. "Fucking shit, she knows."  

  The frown on his daughter's face disappeared as she pushed a cold plate of food at him and started to laugh. "You ruined a perfectly good plate of bacon and eggs."  

  Rick felt his heart start its rhythm again.  

  "Jeez dad, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

  She was coming over to help him sit down as Rick realized it was just her usual bit of joking since her newfound independence of him.  She did it periodically now to remind him she was no longer so dependent on his being there. He found it as annoying as having to take a dump after spicy food but in his sober state he was just about ready to kill her and make a clone for real. One who didn't pull such stunts.  

  "I-I'm okay."  

  She poured him a glass of orange juice, her eyes never leaving his face. "Are you sure?"  

  "Yeah. Positive. Just need some food." He grabbed the plate and started eating.  

  "Dad...what did you think I was talking about?"  

  "Oh nothing," Rick gave his answer around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Maybe that I replaced Jerry's toilet paper with flypaper again?"  

  "Dad!"  

  "You know if he was smart enough to realize it was sticky before he started wiping..."  

  "DAD!"  

  "I'll fix it."  

  "You'd better," she narrowed an eye at him doubtfully.  

  "So you *beurrrppp!* going into work today or not?"  

  "Not unless they need me. I thought I'd just stay around the house and keep Jerry company."  

  "Me too. Well...without the keeping Jerry company part."  

  She looked at him skeptically again. "What? Nothing you have to fly off or teleport somewhere to do?"  

  "What? Can't an old man just stay around the house, slowly feeling his body decaying for once?"   

  "No. It's just you usually don't stick around. Well not unless Morty is here."  

  Rick didn't look up from his plate of food but his chewing became a little more laborious. "Well today is different," he answered a touch petulantly after a hard swallow.  

  "Okay. Well then. I'll just start doing the dishes," Beth said, pushing her father's irritation away.  

  "Shouldn't Jerry be making himself useful and helping you with that?"

  As if on cue, Jerry's head peaked around the corner.  "Honey are we going to start soon? I got the water all ready but made the mistake of putting my hands in too early. They're all wrinkly now."  

  He saw Rick and smiled. "Hey Rick! Missed you at breakfast. You feeling okay?"   The concern was genuine much to Rick's dismay. What annoyed him the most was that Jerry did seem to genuinely care sometimes. Well it was one of the things that annoyed Rick most.  

  "Hi Jerry. Good for you you didn't take a crap this morning."

  The younger man looked confused but decided to focus on something else instead.  "You know," Jerry stopped and thought for a moment. "I can't remember you ever being sick since you came here? Hungover as Dean Martin at a roast but never sick. And I can't remember you ever missing breakfast either."  

  That both Beth and Jerry seemed more observant than he had given them credit for unnerved Rick. Irritation fastly building, Rick finished the rest of his meal and shoved the now empty plate at his daughter. "Here," Rick said, spitting out some bacon as he did. "Go save Jerry's wrinkly hands. The water's getting cold."  

  "Is it?" Jerry exclaimed. "Oh no!"  

  "Another fact from science, Jerry!" Rick shouted after him.   Beth looked at Rick and rolled her eyes before heading to the kitchen.  

  "The couple that does the dishes together makes me lose my breakfast together," Rick said, running a hand over his mouth. "Shit. This is going to be a very loooong day."

 *  *  *  

  Bargaining would be his downfall, Rick understood. If he let his mind wander too freely it would start coming up with excuses. He would find himself staring in the windows of Harry Herpson High School like some pervert for one glimpse, one hit, of Morty. Or maybe he would convince himself to have supper with the family.   "What could it hurt?" he would reason. They had already found his absence at breakfast odd. "Best not to draw attention."  

  Addiction was always that way. It started so innocently and then you became the slave to whatever had managed to hook you. It was deceptively simple:

  The first sip of alcohol until you realized you had drunk enough to fill five Beverly Hills swimming pools ten times over. The first needle mark until your arm had more holes in it than the plot of an ABC drama. The first prayer until you found yourself sitting in a pew somewhere with a bunch of smiling idiots.  

  And the worst part about addiction, the one thing addicts would never accept but could never truly forget was the fact that that which they loved would never love them back with the same amount of passion.  That was what drained and depleted them. To receive some of that obsession back would offer some sort of nourishment...to know you were that much loved in return.

  But you never would be.

  So you just kept pouring your money, faith or love into something that fed off of you until there was nothing left.  

  Rick Sanchez had a million addictions. The worst of which was one to a yellow t-shirted boy.   And he wanted to keep his promise to that boy so excuses were out of the question.

  Instead he tried to occupy his mind with television. It wasn't the same without Morty sitting beside him but Rick occassionally found something mildly amusing. Particularly if it had violence and boobs.  

  He was watching something featuring both when Jerry appeared by the couch, carrying something which looked like a Lego building in his hands. Rick quickly started flipping the channels, hoping Jerry wouldn't sit beside him.  

  "Rick? Could you possibly help me with this thing? I can't get it to fit quite right."  

  "Could _I_ possibly? Could _I_ possibly J-Jerry? I can make your testicles both the same sizes. Or make your asshole do your taxes. I am Rick "Fucking" Sanchez and _I_ could possibly do anything I damn well wanted to. Will _I_? No."  

  Jerry looked at him for a prolonged second. "Rick are you sure you are okay"  

  "Yeah. W-w-why the hell you ask?"  

  "You just seem a little tense," Jerry squinted and studied his father-in-law as Rick shifted uncomfortable under the scrutiny.   Suddenly the younger man's face brightened and he leaned in conspiratorally. "Listen...don't tell Beth but I still have a few of those pills the Galactic Federation was handing out if you need some."  

  Rick stopped and looked at Jerry stonily. " Don't go getting all The Wire on me Jerry. I've gotten harder stuff from twelve year old's Lemonade stands than that pussy organization hands out."  

  "Okay," Jerry said looking surprisingly unoffended. "But if you change your mind." He gave an exaggerated and sly wink before turning to leave the room.

  He stopped in the doorway, however, and looked back. "Were you serious about that taxes thing?"  

  Rick offered him an ill tempered scowl.  

  "Riiiight," Jerry said. "I'll go find Beth."  

  "You do that," Rick said.  

  A little while later, the sound of Beth's voice could be heard and Rick knew Jerry had been successful.  For all his bitching about them, Rick thought, they really were well suited for each other.  

  Rick found himself regretting being snide with his son-in-law. The man had been trying to help in his own inept way. Offering his hidden stash of antidepressants had to have been something self-sacrificing for Jerry. So what if he was a dweeb who had gotten Rick's daughter pregnant at seventeen? The man couldn't help it that...  

  " _You are the reason why his son is dead!"_

  The blood turned to ice in Rick Sanchez's heart. He swallowed hard, his heart suspended in his chest  

_"I am too, brothers and sisters. We all are. Yet God accepts us, forgives us and loves us, regardless."_

  Rick turned to find he had channel surfed to some preacher in his distraction. A kind faced, thirty something guy in black was sitting behind some desk, a large crucifix behind him in the background. For one terrifying moment Rick thought the figure on the cross was wearing a yellow t-shirt until he caught his breath and saw the familiar torso of Jesus Christ.   Rick sighed partly in relief.

  He could not find the energy to switch the channels. The strength had gone from his body.  

 _"It seems that we have a call,"_ the minister said punching a button in front of him. " _Hello_."  

  "How can I give money? I want to give money."  

 _"Mr. Goldenfold is that you?"_ the minister suddenly looked weary. " _I've explained to you before, we are not that type of organization."_

  "What self-respecting religion doesn't want my money?" Goldenfold sounded quite upset.  

  The Minister looked undaunted. _"Mr Goldenfold. It's a weekday. Don't you have children to teach math to?"_  

  "Ah they are all so stupid I'll be teaching them for years."   The revelation seemed to upset the teacher and he burst into tears. "Help me! I want out of this mess!"  

  The Minister started to comfort him and Rick turned the TV off. Although usually he found grown men crying somewhat entertaining he had had enough of television for the day.

  He had had enough of God too.

  There had been a time once he had believed he had turned to science to play a game of hide and seek with some benevolent creator. He had once thought it too could be possible. Then his prayer for one simple thing had gone unanswered, one little thing, and he had stopped searching.  

  It hadn't mattered anyway.

 Rick Sanchez had found a way to answer his own supplication. He had become his own God.  

  It also didn't matter that he had no love left for that one also.

 *  *  *  

  "Depression. I am suffering from major depression here and all you guys can do is laugh?" Summer Smith whined, arms folded at the dining table, refusing to glance at either of her parents.  

  "Come on, Summer," Beth said. "You have to admit it is rather funny. "Besides I told you it isn't a good idea to wear white pants when it's that time of the month."  

  "Even I know that," Jerry said, garnering a look from everybody at the table. "Not that I have a time of the month. And I definitely do NOT have a vagina nor do I wonder what it would be like to have one."  

  Everybody continued to stare at him.  

  "Shutting up now," Jerry said sheepishly and resumed eating his spaghetti.  

  "Well luckily nobody noticed and Janey leant me a spare pair of hers. I threw mine in the washer when I got home. Morty had a shirt in there already but I tossed it on the floor. He can just deal."  

  "Where _is_ Morty?" Beth asked.

  "He went to the mall. He's gonna catch supper there."  

  Rick had already known that. He wouldn't be sitting there eating pasta otherwise. He had read the text that Morty had sent his sister about two hours ago asking her to explain to his parents why he wouldn't be with them for the final meal of the day. It was a testament to his granddaughter's self absorption that it had taken the subject being brought up for her to even remember to relay the message given to her.   Doubting Summer would appreciate knowing he had technology that could intercept her private messages, Rick had feigned ignorance.  

  "I think Jessica was going there with her friends. He'll probably get thrown in jail for stalking. Can I turn his room into a yoga den when he gets life for being a little creep?"  

  "Summer," Jerry chastised his daughter.  

  "So Jessica was going to be there, huh?" Rick asked.  

  "Yeah. She usually hangs out there. Are you _jealous_ Grandpa Rick? You're little sidekick chose a pair of bouncy tits over you. Johnny Paper found other toys to play with than his grumpy old dragon."  

  Beth was about to correct her daughter but seeing the look on her father's face was disturbed. "I heard there is a new smoothie bar at the mall," she changed the subject to avoid thinking about it for too long.  

  Rick ate the rest of his meal quickly. Leaving the table he placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Good meal sweetie. Spam meatballs were an inspired choice."  

  "Thanks Dad," Beth said, as her husband and daughter looked at the misshapened balls still left on their own plates dubiously.  

  Rick headed for his room his thoughts still lurking on the idea of his grandson following Jessica around a shopping mall. He had horrible visions of him peeking around mannequins to oogle the pretty redhead shopping for bras. Or falling off and hurting himself as he tailgated her on the escalator. It had happened before.

  The man ran a hand through his wild blue hair as he entered his room, closing the door a little too forcibly behind him.   He threw himself on the bed and closed his eyes. Rick found himself wondering if he should transplant his consciousness inside Jessica. Having to worry about messing up a pair of white pants during a certain part of the month seemed like a fair enough trade for having Morty never leave him.  

  Knowing Morty still wasn't home, and remembering Summer's earlier conversation, an idea occurred to Rick Sanchez. It would help to ease the boy's absence in the remaining time before the twenty-four hours were up.  

  Rick opened his bedroom door. He heard Summer's voice drifting from her bedroom. She hadn't stayed to help with the dishes but had chosen to Skype with a friend instead. Figured.  

  "No. I got a C. The whole thing was stupid anyway. I mean like _why_ did Hester stay in that place and wear that big A anyway? Why not move to someplace she wouldn't have to wear only black all the time? You know a place with a mini mall?"  

  Rick walked down the hallway trying to appear casual on his way to the basement.  

  "It was really that Reverend who had it bad though. I mean, it was eating him up, right? Carrying all that guilt inside of him. He never told anybody, he couldn't bring himself to do it and it destroyed him."

  As if sensing eyes on her, Summer turned to look at Rick where he had frozen, unable to move, right outside her doorway.   "Ummm...Grampa Rick. Is something wrong?"  

  "No," Rick said trying to sound normal. I was just...I just got a crink in my back. You know us decrepit old farts."  

  "Oh. Okay. Are you sure? You look a little pale?"

  "Yeah. Just a little sore and stiff is all."  

  "Look. I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I just get jealous of how close you and Morty are sometimes.  Morty does love you though."  

  "It's okay Summer. Get back to whoever the hell you are talking to and don't worry about it."  

  She smiled and returned to talking with her friend.  

  Beth and Jerry were doing the dishes. They paid little attention to Rick as he went down to the basement. It was how he liked it; he didn't want attention.  

  Descending the stairs, Rick was relieved to see that Summer hadn't returned Morty's t-shirt to the washing machine before Skyping. It lay crumbled in a heap with some of his other clothing. He went to it discovering it was a still damp but also partially drying. He stuffed it under his own shirt, at the back, hoping he could make it back to his own room without further notice.  

  When he climbed the stairs, he found Beth and Jerry too busy giggling together, Jerry's hand on Beth's butt. They were starting to kiss, providing Rick with the perfect opportunity to slip by them.   Summer also had stopped her conversation and was lying on her back on her bed texting somebody. If she heard her grandfather pass by her bedroom she offered no indication she had.  

  Safely inside his bedroom, Rick took the yellow t-shirt out. Bringing it to his face, he inhaled deeply, upset he could smell only laundry detergent and not the scents he associated with Morty: sweat, his favorite junk food, semen from jerking off too often.  

  He held the t-shirt up at arms' length so it contrasted against the darkening sky in the window.

  _Yellow had been the color of his t-shirt. Yellow like the crayon sun in a child's drawing._  

  Rick brought it to his chest, holding it fiercely. He fell onto the cot, still clutching it violently. He would have started to cry if he had been sure he could stop. He was still, embracing the yellow t-shirt as the day lost the last of its color and he fell asleep against his will.

 *  *  *  

  Acceptance was usually the given state of most dreams; things went unquestioned and fantasy unrealized and unacknowledged. For Rick Sanchez everything always seemed like some bad television show these days; every reality was a lie. Dreams were no exception and he hated them for it.  

  In his dream, Rick walked into Morty's room. It was not the room of a teenager. Childish yellow and pink flowers were painted along the blue walls. A crib sat in the corner with a mobile hanging over it. Rick remembered the room only too well.  He walked to the crib expecting to find baby Morty inside, sleeping or chubby arms raised, expecting to be held.   Morty was not inside however.

  It was not empty though.

 The crib was filled with spaghetti, on top of which, sat three enormous spam meatballs. One bore the face of Beth, one of Jerry and the last of Summer. Each meatball opened its eyes and stared at Rick blankly.   "It was all your fault," they started to sing in rote. They sang the words over and over, second and third faster each time until the voices joined and they sang it in harmony.  

  "It was all your fault."  

  "It was all your fault."  

  "It was all your fault."  

  Rick backed away from the crib in horror, a bead of sweat falling down the side of his face. He ran out the door, hoping to escape the deafening chant. As he crossed the door's threshold, he found himself standing on a scaffold in the middle of the town.

  For the first time, Rick looked down and realized that he was naked. Two seperate letters had been written in blood on him. One over his heart the other, a large M, in the middle of his chest crossing paths with the other.  

  The whole town had gathered to stare at him. Principal Vagina, Jessica, Brad, Goldenfold, Father Bob. His dead ex wife had joined them also. Even Birdperson and Squanchy were there. There was no love to be found in any of their eyes. No pity nor mercy. There was only condemnation and blame.  

  Seeing Scary Terry in the crowd, Rick asked. "Mind helping me out Dawg?"

  Terry only shook his head. "You're on your own bitch."

  Summer stood, arms folded, at the front of the line. "For the love of God! Get dressed" she screamed at him. "Something not black!"  

  "He doesn't love God," Principal Vagina said. "He didn't give him what he wanted."  

  The sky flashed between blue and black, thunder clapped as a procession of Mr. Meeseeks carried a large wooden cross to the scaffold where Rick Sanchez stood. They erected it before him.

  "He's Morty Smith!" a Mr. Meeseeks cried. "Look at him!"  

  A boy in a yellow t-shirt was nailed to the cross. His eyes were open but Rick knew they did not see anything. The boy was dead. He would not rise from his grave in three days. He would not rise into the sky.

  Once dead, boys in yellow t-shirts stayed dead.

  There was nothing left to do but to find a world where his grandson had never known him, Rick knew.

  One where he had never destroyed him.  

  The sky stayed black now and sunless. There was no sound. Everybody vanished. Only the figure on the cross and the naked old man with the M and I on his skin remained.

  Rick Sanchez lowered his head in shame.  

 _"I forgive you,"_ a voice Rick had never heard before said.  

  Tears and anger in his eyes, Rick looked to the sky and screamed, "I DON'T FORGIVE MYSELF! HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU FORGIVE ME?"  

  Real tears streaming from his eyes, Rick awoke.  

  It took him a moment to remember which reality he was in. It always did.  

  He ran a hand over his eyes, dragging it down to his mouth, suppressing a scream.   To his surprise the scream came out anyway.   It took Rick a moment to realize it hadn't been him making the noises. They were distant and not coming from his room. It took Rick another moment to realize it was the sound of Beth and Jerry making love.  

 It had become a common sound in the house since Jerry's return. Usually Rick took precautions beforehand so he could avoid the awkwardness of listening to his daughter's orgasms. He had fallen asleep, however, before he could do so tonight.   He lay on the bed listening to them. To give Jerry some credit, Rick thought, Beth no longer seemed to be faking it. The man must be getting better. Or Beth was no longer so hard to please.  

  "That is how they created Morty," Rick thought in his darkened room. "That is how they made my Morty; that act they are doing now."   Usually he was able to seperate the love and hate he felt towards Beth and Jerry in regards to his grandson's existence. He gave his daughter all his gratitude and his son-in-law all of his loathing. Tonight, the tears drying on his cheeks, he cursed and blessed both equally.  

  Morty...Had he come home?   Rick jumped up, pushing the sounds of intercourse from his mind and dropping the yellow t-shirt he was still holding onto the floor. He turned on the television set, tuning it to the surveillance camera he had secretly placed outside his door. Scanning through it, he saw his grandson come to his door and watched as he started to knock.  

  "Hey Rick! Are you in there?"  

  Rick looked at the time recorded down in the corner. This had happened at 8:00 pm. Rick looked at his wristwatch. It proudly announced it was now 2:44 am.   He had made it. More than twenty-four hours without Morty.

  He quietly gloated, looking at the teenager on the screen; it had been Morty and not him who had caved in and sought contact.  

  "Are you sure you're not in there?" Morty asked. "Well. Okay. Well. Aw...jeez...I hope you're not dead in there," Morty said as he walked away.  

  Rick smiled, turning the TV off. He quickly grabbed his flask. He wasn't sure if Morty would let him come to his room late at night if he wasn't drunk, which was kind of unsettling when he thought about it. He poured half of the flask's contents on his shirt and lab coat and gargled with the rest, spitting it out in a helmet he had nearby. He could drink for real the next day.

  Reaching his grandson's room, Rick opened the door and stumbled in. "H-hey li-little buddy."   He sat on the edge of Morty's bed as the boy raised his head and tried to focus in the dark.  

  "Jeez Rick. I'm trying to sleep."   

  "How was your day there little guy?"  

  "Good. Now would you just let me get some sleep?"  

  "School was *EuurrRppp* good? So w-w-what you learn about?"  

  "Oh just a bunch of shit with numbers and about a bunch of dead guys."  

  "Same old stuff they tried to teach me Morty. A long long time ago."

  They sat quietly in the dark for a few seconds. "There was this one interesting class though."  

  "What was it? Was it sex education? That was always amusing."  

  "N-no. It wasn't sex ed," Morty said. He inhaled loudly. "They were listing all of the stages of grief. I don't know...like to help you if you ever have to go through that shit. Like when dad left, I guess."  

  Rick did not move but remained silent.  

  "There was anger and bargaining, depression and acceptance," Morty continued. "Like, I...I get all of those, Rick, but there was one I didn't understand."  

  "Which one was that?" Rick asked, not looking at his grandson.  

  "The Nile. L-l-like w-what does a river in Egypt have to do with grief?"  

  "Not the Nile, you idiot: denial."  

  "Oh..what is that?"  

  Rick inhaled, trying to breath in as much air as he could before answering. "It's when you don't want something to be true. So you start lying to yourself about it. You pretend it never happened or you search for any kind of escape to make it not real."

  "That's stupid," Morty said. "Like...like how could anybody lie to themselves that much? W-wouldn't you know it was all shit?"  

  "Yeah. I guess. Deep down you always know."

  "I mean maybe. Maybe if you loved something so much living without it caused you too much pain. A lie would seem better then"  

  "T-that's real deep Morty," Rick said. "Y-y-you're a r-real Emily Dickinson aren't you?"  

  "Alright, alright," Morty sighed. "No need to bust my balls. It's all stupid anyway...Can we go on an adventure tomorrow Rick?"  

  Rick smiled, his teeth glints in the darkness. "Yeeeesss! Now you're *bellllllchhhh* talking! You mind if I sleep in here? Your parents are imitating animal kingdom again."

  "Better than when they are fighting," Morty said moving closer to the wall, Rick falling in close beside him.  

  They lay facing each other for minutes, Rick feeling each breath his grandson took, waiting for the boy to fall asleep.  When enough time had passed, Rick grabbed Morty and held him.  When the boy began to squirm, Rick knew he had been wrong.

  "Ummm Rick...I can't breath," Morty said. "Will you let go?"  

  "Sure," Rick replied but they both knew from the way he tightened his hold that he really meant "Never."

**Author's Note:**

> I always prefer the Rick & Morty episodes which feature Rick and Morty around each other so it is odd that my first fanfic with them primarily had them apart. I think through the temporary absence of Morty in a single day I was trying to show just how deep Rick's love for him runs. That and his obsession.
> 
> There is not a single character of the Smith family that I dislike. The writers have done such a fantastic job of showing each of their faults but also their virtues. I wanted to give each character a moment to showcase that.


End file.
